5-17-2008
After a sweltering 4.5 hour bus ride and a couple of arduous police check points I had arrived in the capital of Pakistan, Islamabad. Pakistan is a heavily militarized country with countless numbers of police checkpoints strategically placed throughout its transit zones. Each check point provided a transparent reminder of exactly where I was, and what dangers may be recklessly strewn upon my path. In retrospect each military confrontation I encountered along my journey had effectively knocked me off my puffy cloud of ignorant complacency and down to the dusty floor of justified paranoia. Fortunately, most of the military police officers I encountered in Pakistan were friendly and cordial; nonetheless I often found the checkpoints to be considerably intimidating and slightly unnerving.
I arrived at a small bus station on the edge of Islamabad at 4:30pm. Islamabad was extraordinarily hot; it was to my surprise even more unbearable than Peshawar. The belligerently arid heat penetrated my body with excessive force. I sweated uncontrollably as I wandered across the parking lot to find a phone. After calling my Pakistani host Fareeha and bargaining with a cab driver for 30 minutes, I hopped into a cab and was on my way.
Perhaps I should refrain from going into too much detail about Islamabad. It seems more appropriate to simply paraphrase my experiences and interactions. Security in Islamabad is incredibly volatile, and the safety of my friends in Islamabad is my utmost concern.
Islamabad: Well, what can I say about this city; besides that it is in every way shape and form artificial. It was constructed from the ground up for the sole purpose of containing large business parks and highly fortified consulates and embassies. It is not a traditional or typical Pakistani city; it is a slice of commercialism and rapidly progressive development placed in a highly unlikely location. Islamabad is like Las Vegas………………a thriving concrete metropolis in an extremely improbable and sarcastic location. On the sun slick streets of Islamabad, Pakistani aristocrats drive around in exotic sports cars and diplomats cruise around in their brand new armored land cruisers, while peasant construction workers slave away in relentless heat to create the newest corporate office buildings. When I compare and contrast Islamabad to Peshawar, Chitral and Gilgit; I see potential overpowered by vanity and harsh reality. Pakistan unfortunately will not be able to build itself up economically until it resolves its parasitic social turmoil and government volatility. Islamabad is simply a shallow well of artificial hope surrounded by a forest of callous inevitability.
In Islamabad I was hosted by an incredibly talented artist in her late 20s named Fareeha (http://fareehakhawaja.googlepages.com/home). Her ethnicity is a unique blend of Tajik and Kashmiri. Due to Fareeha’s charming personality and active social life, she has acquired several social connections within the US embassy, including the US armed forces. Within a day of Arriving in Islamabad I was able to use Fareeha’s connections to penetrate the dense shell of Islamabad’s ex-patriot cliques, and had begun enjoying a wide array of social activities.
I must say that my time in Islamabad was incredibly refreshing and delightfully American. I had found a highly affable crew that provided me with a home away from home, and a place where I could truly let loose and be myself amongst other Americans. It had been a long time since I had the opportunity to spend time with other Americans, and it proved to be a breath of fresh air. Familiarity is comfort.
To be brief; I spent my time in Islamabad…………..
-Chillin on the US embassy compound: poolside pina coladas, pickup softball games, water polo, Socializing and networking at the American club, partying at the Marine Corps bar……etc
-Going on long miserable walks around Islamabad in scorching heat.
- Reading and sweating profusely in Fareeha’s apartment while she was at work (the power went out in Islamabad about every other hour-which means no fan!)
-Eating dinner at the Marriot with an old Peace Corps Bulgaria friend and current Foreign Service officer (Lenny).
-Parties, game nights, movie nights, and BBQs with Americans, held at their fortified mansions.
{Due to the intense danger of the area, Pakistan is a no-spouse, no-family foreign post. So basically every American working there is either single or living across the world from their spouse and kids. So essentially people generally live in groups of 5 or so in fortified mansions with their own 24-7 armed guards, maids, cooks, and vehicle service. It sounds pretty glamorous, but they are living in an area that is treacherously unpredictable and dangerous. A bomb could explode anywhere at anytime and US citizens are constantly a target. They are also living on lock down; they cannot leave the city of Islamabad without an armored convoy, and all the restaurants in Islamabad are off limits to all US military and Foreign Service. The restaurants within the Islamabad Marriot are the only exception to this rule. Due to the high security of the Marriot the interior is considered safe.}
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-Unfortunately the times are changing, as I dig through my travel journals and type this up (October 2008), the Marriot lays in shambles. A bombing destroyed a large chunk of the Islamabad Marriot and killed 54 people(3 Americans) and injured 266. The Bombing took place September 20, 2008 and left the Marriot’s security helpless and shaken. Much like the disastrous bombing of the Marine Corps Building in Beirut; the terrorists rammed through the security gate with a dump truck full of explosives detonating the bomb while driving into the building. When I read the news of this particular terrorist attack, it took my breath away. I could not help but think about the safety of my friends stationed in Islamabad. I now know they are all safe and accounted for, however my friend from the Peace Corps informed me that he had lost two of his colleagues in the attack.
Lenny and I served in the same Peace Corps Country (Bulgaria) and County (Stara Zagora). He served about 40km from me, but was in a Peace Corps group that came a full year before me. By the time I had finished my service in Bulgaria he had been hired by the US Foreign Service and was stationed in Islamabad, Pakistan. A month before I arrived in Islamabad four of Lenny’s American Colleagues had been targeted and bombed at an Italian Restaurant in Islamabad - and now just six months later, a bomb had taken away the lives of two of his colleagues. I can only imagine how horrifying it must be to know that danger and death are potentially very real possibilities of your everyday life. When I was in Islamabad Lenny treated me to a steak dinner at the Islamabad Marriot;…………..and now less than 5 months later I am confronted with the fact that a step along my path has been violently destroyed and the lives of 50 innocent souls have been taken away by mindless ignorance and indiscriminate hatred.
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-Well I should probably keep this to myself, but in the spirit of journalism I will share: While hanging out at one of the known American Party houses called house # ____(about 6 Americans live there, and have some pretty good parties), I started talking to a military officer named John Doe. After a few drinks John Doe casually mentioned to me that there were several military operations in progress within Pakistan. Being part of the _______branch of the US military, he had quite a lot of inside information. He mentioned that a couple days ago an unmanned plane dropped a bomb on a terrorist cell in Northern Pakistan, and was responsible for killing no less than 14 suspected terrorists. I did not think much about this statement until the following day while I was combing threw the Internet and getting all the daily news briefs from several US based newspapers. I read no less than three articles that mentioned a bombing in Northern Pakistan that had killed 14, and was suspected to be a US air strike. I found the articles interesting because they all noted that the US military had not claimed any responsibility for the bombing. Interesting…………..so now I know something that has yet to be confirmed by my government and released to the public media.
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One of the last things I did before leaving Islamabad was to have dinner with my friend Lenny at the Islamabad Marriot. While walking through the Marriot we ran into Jim Doe the head of security for the United State’s diplomatic mission in Pakistan. After being introduced to Jim Doe, I asked him if he had any security concerns about Karachi. I had recently bought a plane ticket that left Karachi for Kathmandu, Nepal and wanted to make sure that the city was safe enough to visit.
Unfortunately Jim Doe’s answer to my question proved to be less than comforting. Jim Doe looked me in the eyes and said: “if you go to Karachi, and simply walk down the street there, I have no doubt in my mind that you will be immediately abducted a killed”. Needless to say, his comment gave me a lot to think about. I had heard rumors that Karachi was considered dangerous territory even by Pakistanis, but had no idea how feared it was by foreign diplomats. Apparently when Daniel Pearl was kidnapped from Karachi in 2002, Jim was in charge of his search and rescue. As most people know Daniel Pearl’s search ended in vain when videos began to circulate via the internet showing Daniel mercilessly being decapitated.
After a brief conversation I thanked Jim Doe for his advice and promised him I would consider canceling my visit to Karachi.
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5-22-2008
After a few wonderful days of unexpected serenity, I bid farewell to my friends in Islamabad and boarded the 2pm bus for Lahore, Pakistan. Following a painfully slow and uncomfortable bus ride I arrived in Lahore at 7:30pm. The worst part of the bus ride was the obnoxiously loud Bollywood films being played. It was absolute torture and never ending. We watched three full films while I was on the bus; the screeching volume ripped through my ears with blunt vigor that grinded away my patience with rapid force.
{for those of you who don’t know what a Bollywood film is: It is a type of film made in India that are surprisingly popular throughout India and Pakistan. All of the films are musicals with cheesy dancing, and glass shattering vocals. In my opinion they are absolutely atrocious.}
I arrived at a dark, loud, dusty, chaotic, dirt parking lot on the outskirts of Lahore at around 7:30pm. Overly anxious rickshaw and cab drivers swarmed me like locust and created a frenzied atmosphere that suffocated my patience and became quite overwhelming. After regaining my composure, I called my host Mohammed and was soon in the back of a rickshaw heading to his home. The smoky streets were filled with absolute madness, traffic laws seemed to be nonexistent, and the loud bustling streets of Lahore produced a fresh stench of rapid urbanization.
After arriving at Mohammed’s small inner-city home, I was greeted warmly by his family and offered a shower. I had been sweating buckets and collecting dust all day, so a shower was definitely something I could get into. After showering, I sat in Mohammed’s living room and pleasantly conversed with Mohammed’s family.
-Mohammed’s home consisted of: a small kitchen, a small bedroom, a 8x10ft open air, gated, cement patio consisting 2 cots a motorcycle and a sink. A small living room with two couches facing each other, a Persian rug in the center, chipped white concrete walls containing family portraits and posters of Islamic leaders, and one small bathroom with a squat toilet and a sink.
Mohammed was a cordial fellow in his early 20s with a shoddy mustache and a sheltered mind. He was an econ student at a nearby university, and was in his last year of study. I was quite enjoying my time with Mohammed until he informed me that he had told his family that I was Canadian. Mohammed told me that it was extremely dangerous for he and his family to host an American, so I must tell everyone I meet that I am Canadian or English. Well,……….. that is not exactly what I wanted to hear. I had felt completely comfortable being myself throughout Pakistan, and now I was forced to deny my Nationality in order to tame my host’s fear and paranoia. I consider myself highly adaptable and culturally sensitive, so I immediately consented to Mohammed’s demands and assured him of my cooperation with the unreasonable façade.
At about 10pm I hopped on the back of Mohammed’s motorcycle and we tore through the streets of Lahore to the shrine of Baba Shah Jamal. We were visiting a Sufi shrine where Sufi’s congregate every Thursday night to worship and meditate. After driving down a crowded dirt side street we parked the motorcycle along with 100s of others and walked up the stairs to the Sufi Shrine. Fruit vendors and elderly Sufis surrounded the area creating a very atypical atmosphere. Shirtless old Sufi men sat on flat wooden tables sporting aggressive beards and colorful bracelets around their biceps, while lethargically smoking hash and conversing amongst themselves.
Halfway up the steps to the Baba Shah Jamal shrine Mohammed and I took off our shoes before proceeding to the top entrance. The Shrine was similar in design to a Mosque, but contained a more complex, progressive and brotherly environment.
There was on open courtyard with a covered sitting area on one side, and a small room containing the shrine of Baba Shah Jamal on the other. Before entering into the shrine, Mohammed and I dipped our finger in hot oil and touched it against our foreheads ( Mohammed told me to follow his lead). Next we entered the shrine; a small room containing a large ornate casket in the center, and flower petals all over the floor and casket. As we slowly walked counterclockwise around the room we both stopped briefly to bow to the coffin and place our foreheads on the edge of the decorative rectangle box before proceeding forward in line. On the other side of the room was the exit door where each person must turn toward the shrine and walk out of the room backwards (it is considered disrespectful to turn your back on Baba Shah Jamal). Throughout the courtyard, young Sufis walked around socializing and sharing candy, cookies, and pilov(rice dish) with one another. It was quite interesting to see everyone treat each other like brothers and to share the things they had brought. I being the lone foreigner was constantly confronted by curious young Sufis and asked several questions. They all seemed to be amazed by how tall I was; what can I say, we Canadians are tall people.
{Sufi’s have been around since the beginning of Islam; Sufi means ‘free thinker’. So as you can imagine many progressive sects and unorthodox practices within the Islamic faith fall into this category. For example: the whirling dervishes of Konya, Turkey are Sufi’s. Sufi’s are the evangelicals of Islam, which in essence means that a great number of Muslims find their antics to be far too unconventional to be acceptable. Sufis believe that they must meditate deeply (sometimes drug induced) in order to reach an out of this world plane where Allah can be more easily communicated with. Sufi’s are often associated with deep trance drum circles, hash, opium, and explorative meditation.}
At the edge of the courtyard, I noticed a group of 10-12 elder Sufis with long white beards sitting shoulder to shoulder under a small covered area. I sat in fascination and bewilderment as I watched these men interact with the young Sufis. It was nothing I had ever seen before, and something I found both bizarre and intriguing.
As the old Sufi men sat with their backs against the wall- young mostly un-bearded men began forming lines in front of them. As each young Sufi approached an elder, he would begin by kissing his hand, bowing, and then sitting cross legged in front of the elder Sufi. Next, the Elder Sufi would place his hand on the young mans left knee and begin staring deep into his eyes. They would stare into each others eyes with deep concentration and unrivalled determination. I later found out that Sufis believe that they can transfer spiritual knowledge this way. The Elder Sufis were performing a ritual that allows the younger Sufis to gain a greater level of spiritual knowledge through a two way meditative state.
After a few minutes of staring at one another, the elder Sufi would begin gently tapping the young Sufi on the heart while chanting “Allah, Allah, Allah” over and over again while maintaining deep eye contact. Sufi’s believe that because of constant and inevitable sin, our hearts slowly blacken, and by this ritual your heart can be cleansed. After several minutes of chanting and heart tapping it is believed that your heart will be purified, and that as you sleep your heart will be chanting “Allah, Allah, Allah” with each beat. The young Sufi’s were really getting into it, they would yell Allah uncontrollably while shaking and twitching, seemingly overcome with spirituality. I had no idea that this sort of thing existed within the Islamic world, I suppose each major religion has its own progressive and unorthodox counterpart.
Witnessing this was absolutely incredible; watching this ritual being done by 10+ Sufis simultaneously was a fascinating spectacle. As much as I wanted to document this event with film, I knew it would have been highly inappropriate and disrespectful to the Sufis. I am just thankful that the surrounding Sufis tolerated my presence and allowed me to observe this sacred ritual.
Mohammed and I later left the shrine and headed to a crowded area to the right of the Baba Shah Jamal shrine. Even though the place seemed quite ordinary and common, everyone in attendance took off their shoes to show respect. On the edge of the crowd were two hippie looking Sufis pounding large drums to a hypnotic beat. The crowd consisted of a ragtag group of mostly young Sufis sitting on the cement floor smoking hash and conversing amongst themselves. It was quite a different atmosphere than at the shrine, these people were plunging into a drug induced meditation, while the people at the Shrine were using deep thought and ancient rituals to achieve the same sort of enlightenment. Mohammed found the hash circle to be irritating, and almost immediately wanted to leave. He told me that the people were not real Muslims, but simply drug users out for a good time. I personally found the drum/hash circle to be quite interesting and unique. If I had it my way I would have stayed longer. I found out later that one of the drummers was completely deaf.
At around midnight Mohammed and I hopped onto his motorcycle and began our trip home. We ran a few errands on the way back, buying some flat bread and a bag of milk in a back alley marketplace. Riding through the busy streets of Lahore on the back of a small motorcycle was both exciting and frightening. It was thrilling to see such diverse sides of Lahore; it was quite refreshing in contrast to my predominantly cultureless days spent in Islamabad.
I really enjoyed my evening spent with Mohammed, but could not get past the way he treated me. He often reminded me to hide my nationality, and even forced me to wear my hair down instead of the cooler (temperature) and more comfortable pony tail. Mohammed was constantly nervous around me, and repeatedly reminded me that extremists in the area were on the lookout for Americans. I hated the fact that I could not display myself as an enlightened American, and help persuade Pakistanis that America is not synonymous with evil and hate. While spending the evening with Mohammed no fewer than 10 people asked me where I was from……………and each time Mohammed stepped in and told everyone that I was Canadian. I had enough………one night with Mohammed would be all I could bare. I would much rather spend my days alone and in relative danger than in a cloud of uncomfortable internal shame.
That evening Mohammed and I slept on the couches in the living room, his parents slept on the open air cots on the back patio, his sisters slept on cots in the kitchen, and his eldest sister slept in the small room with her husband and infant child. It was a cozy, crowded and incredibly hot house. Lahore was not surprisingly even hotter than Islamabad………..the temperature was becoming a bit ridiculous and difficult to endure.
5-23-2008
Mohammed left for work before I woke up, and at around 9am his sisters burst in the living room with my breakfast. One of Mohammed’s sisters spoke perfect English and was quite personable and enjoyable to talk to. We spent the morning pleasantly conversing before I decided to hit the road.
At around noon I took a rickshaw to a cheap hotel near Lahore’s large bazaar district. My stomach was acting up a bit, so I decided to spend the day resting and going on short walks around the bazaar. The heat was overwhelmingly strong and pretty much took all the joy out of being outside. The dust, pollution, and 100f+ heat made walking around arduous and increasingly difficult to enjoy.
At around 4:45pm I boarded a public bus heading to the Pakistan-Indian border. Each evening when the sun goes down a border closing ceremony begins. After arriving at the border, I bought a ticket and proceeded to the bleachers near the edge of the border. At 6:00pm the closing ceremony began. The entire ceremony was incredibly amusing. Their were two large sets of concrete bleachers separated by gender ( everything is segregated in Pakistan, public busses are cut in half by an iron gate, women in front, men in back), with one small front row section for the foreigners (me). The exact same set up was visible on the other side of the gate, except the Indian side did not appear to be segregated.
At 6:00pm an old guy with a bushy white beard, green skull cap, green shalwar and a large Pakistani flag began running around the border riling up the crowd. He would run around section to section starting patriotic chants and waving his flag – every so often he would face the gate, wave his flag, and yell things at the Indian crowd on the other side of the fence. The whole scene was wonderfully entertaining; it was like being at a high school football game. Both sides had way too much “school spirit”. Loud music began to blare louder and louder, as men danced around on the bleachers waving flags and yelling patriotic rants. The crowds on each side of the gate would yell back and forth………Hindustan!........Pakistan!...........Hindustan!........Pakistan! The war of patriotic spirit was on!
After the flag wielding cheerleaders pumped up the crowds on each side of the border, the soldiers on each side came out and began marching around with firm determination and amplified authority. The soldiers then marched straight legged by lifting their legs high in front of them and pacing forward at a manic pace. Next, the soldiers marched around raising their right leg high and then stomping the ground with excess force. Everything about this formal routine was quite unique and fascinating. Even the military uniforms were unusual; their hats were topped with what looked like Chinese fans.
After some intense military marching and a lot of foot stomping, the gates opened up. Two soldiers, one from each side began some sort of central stomp-off /marching showdown that ended in an aggressive face to face stare down. They then shook hands, did their stomp/march back to their respective sides of the border, while two other men took the flags down and shut the border-gate for the evening.
To sum it all up, the border ceremony consisted of a lot of overzealous patriotism, an Indian-Pakistani handshake followed by the closing of the gates, and the systematic lowering of the flags (done by both sides in unison). It was quite the spectacle, and truly an entertaining event to witness.
While standing on the dusty, crowded bus heading back to Lahore, a man besides me suddenly stood up and adamantly insisted that I take his seat. Within 10 minutes of my departure from the border, I had become a renowned celebrity on the bus. People constantly asked me questions and bragged about their relatives who were living in the USA. At each stop, vendors would briefly board the bus selling fruit, popsicles, tea, etc…………..and each time I would end up with something handed to me. By the time I had reached Lahore; I had been given three boxes of juice, a disgusting flower tasting popsicle, and half a coconut. I have really enjoyed how open, warm, generous, and kind Pakistanis are. I don’t think many Americans realize just how abundantly hospitable and warm Islamic culture is.
That evening I decided to go on a long walk around Lahore while subsequently tracking down dinner and an internet café. Surprisingly less than two miles into my walk I came across a Subway……….not the underground transit system but the wonderful American sandwich restaurant. I was thrilled and did not hesitate to spend four times the price of my hotel room on a delicious meatball sandwich. It was quite the treat…………..three years without a glorious meatball sandwich from Subway was far too long.
After another hour + of walking, I came across a smoky internet café with barely functioning computers. I have found that the internet is my lifeline………..no matter how good, bad, crazy, scary, painful, happy, sad, depressing, or enlightening my day has been, I can always find someone on the internet to share it with. I can send emails, post BLOGs, upload pictures, or simply read American media publications via the internet. Internet is the bright glowing sun in my cloudy days, and thanks to the technological boom of the 90s is accessible pretty much anywhere with phone lines. Life on the road would be infinitely more challenging if I were unable to Google logistical information, Email friends and Family, network with potential hosts, etc. In conclusion the internet has kept me sane, and has been a bit of a crutch for me throughout my Peace Corps experience and my travel experience thereafter.
After I had left my cyber chamber of comfort behind and reentered reality; I realized that while I was in the internet Café, Lahore had flooded. I had never seen roads fill up so quickly with water. There was literally 6-8 inches of water covering the ground, I was now on the banks of a shallow river………..and 4 miles from my hotel. About an hour of unsuccessful solicitation later, I was able to flag down a motor-rickshaw for a ride back to my hotel.
5-24-2008
After thinking hard about Jim Doe’s advice, and his grave warnings about Karachi, I decided to use my own skewed judgment and travel to Karachi anyway. After personal analysis, it became a calculated risk I was willing to take.
At 2pm I boarded a 3rd class train, destination Karachi, Pakistan. Karachi is the large, population 10 million + Wild West city of Pakistan; here goes nothing!
The train ride was to say the least painful, awkward, and uncomfortable from the moment I boarded. The worn out green vinyl bench seats provided little comfort as the radiant heat penetrated through my already overheating body. The ceiling fan provided a laughable amount of comfort while the open windows did little else than enable mass amounts of sand and dust to pour into the train. Heat and dust plugged up the inside of the train to a suffocating level. As the hours passed by, my dreams of cool fresh air became a mockery to practicality, and an unwarranted ambition to comfort.
Slowly the train putted along the rural desert landscape of Southern Pakistan. From the train I witnessed poor Pakistanis working in treacherous heat along the railroad tracks, often napping in the shade. The train cut across desert villages, and tent cities in the middle of seemingly uninhabitable climate. I found myself utterly amazed by how these people could live and work in such conditions. How many Arizona residents would be able to survive without their AC? These people live in tents, without fans or AC, and are forced to work long hours of manual labor with virtually zero shade. It is just one of the many things that need to be put into perspective; perhaps wealthy people in our world should be a bit more grateful for what they already have, and realize that in retrospect, their comfort level leaves little justification for complaints.
The people sitting around the train seemed kind and friendly, but the language barrier prohibited any shared dialogue between us. They would occasionally share with me snacks they were eating, and I would accept by simply smiling and bowing with my hand over my heart. Throughout the long journey passengers and vendors would come on and off the train. Most of the passengers greeted me with smiles; however a few of the men gave me cold intimidating stares. It was obvious to me that these people were not accustomed to seeing foreigners on their train. Every so often a group of guys would approach me and begin speaking with me in simple English. It all became a bit cliché…………I would be berated about Bush questions, dodge all the bullets I could, explain to them how much I loved Islamic Culture, then they would buy me tea……..and later we would shake hands in friendship before they walked away. Thankfully most of the guys on the train did not grill me too hard; I can only imagine how uncomfortable it would be to be confronted with overpowering hostility in a location that was for the most part inescapable.
The day was wearing on me……………the heat was unrelenting, I was sweating buckets, and the dust began coating me like a powdered donut. My skin was about 10 shades darker because it was now caked with a thin film of mud; which I inadvertently smeared around my face while attempting to squeegee the sweat off my forehead. Every so often I would escape the madness and discomfort by climbing to the 3rd level bench seat and attempting to sleep. I had my MP3 player which provided a pleasant distraction, but the dust and heat countered any sort of comfort with intrusive levels of discomfort.
5-25-2008
At 1:30am I suddenly awoke to a loud man made cat sound; I opened my eyes to see two men in their mid 20s inches away from my face. They were staring at me and smiling with probing eyes. Before I knew what was going on they had both jumped up to the upper bench seat I was laying on. The guys began hurling questions at me with intrigue, while smiling like jackals. It was a really weird situation, I was exhausted, uncomfortable, sweaty, filthy, and talking to a couple guys that were way too excited to be talking to a foreigner. For some reason I decided to tell these guys that I was an Atheist………. I for some reason thought it would end questioning, and perhaps be easier than explaining to them I was Agnostic. I was wrong…………….it provoked a 45 minute debate about how it is crazy not to believe in god/Allah, and that I must learn more about Allah. Two hours, 100 questions, and 3 cups of tea later the guys smiled, shook my hand, and exited the train. At around 4am I was again able to attempt a bit of shut eye.
I woke up at 7am feeling absolutely disgusting. It was like being ‘camping dirty’ but multiplied by ten. I was lying in a pool of sweat; my exposed skin was caked with semi-dry dirt, and my face was smeared with thick blotches of mud. The worst part about waking up exhausted and on a hot dusty train, is knowing that you have another 12 hours of misery ahead of you before you reach your destination. I asked myself again……….why do I put myself in these situations? Why did I not just pay an extra hundred bucks and fly to Karachi? After spending months on the road being as frugal as possible, it is amazing how much hardship you are willing to endure to save a couple bucks.
I arrived in Karachi at 6:30pm………..after spending 28.5 miserable hours on the sweltering, dusty, train. My mind and body were numb by the time I had arrived in Karachi. I had eaten next to nothing on the train because when my core body temperature is overheating, I tend to associate nausea with food consumption. The train ride had absorbed all of my energy and left me in a very lifeless physical and mental state.
As I prepared for my arrival in Karachi I decided to hide my camera deep into my bag, and mentally prepared myself for any possible confrontations. I had decided that perhaps telling people that I was from the USA, would not be a wise move in this area. It would unfortunately be prudent for me to take on another nationality while under these circumstances.
Here goes nothing……………..Things were chaotic as I exited the train and began walking across the platform toward the main exit. The platform was jam packed with a colorful assortment of beggars, vendors, and commuters. After exiting the train station I spotted a public bus down the road and without thinking twice, I approached and boarded the old crowded public bus. Upon entering the bus, I Immediately found myself surrounded with cold suspicious stares; it was unlike anything I had experienced thus far in Pakistan. These people really seamed to dislike me and disapprove of my presence…………..my heart began to pound faster, and my legs began to subtly tremble with uncontrollable nerves. One guy in particular was standing about three feet from me sporting a brown shalwar kameez, a long black bushy beard, a white skull cap, and dusty black sandals. He was in his late 20s and was staring at me with piercing, hateful eyes. It became clear to me instantly that this guy did not want me to feel welcome on his bus. I tried desperately to avoid eye contact with the man, but found myself instinctively turning back to glance at him in order to see if he was still glaring at me. Worst case scenarios began to race through my mind like a dark twisted slide show. I began to grow increasingly uneasy about the situation, and decided I would get off at the next stop. Just before I inevitably succumbed to panic and broke down mentally and physically with fear; I felt a gentle tap on my upper back. As I turned around an old man stood up from his chair and adamantly insisted that I take his place. He smiled at me warmly as I sat down in his seat before turning away slowly to gaze out the dusty bus window. It was amazing how something like this could happen…………..here I was literally about to have a panic attack, and all of a sudden I am confronted with a warm, simple, selfless act of kindness that consequently calmed my nerves and eased my mind.
I had no idea where the bus I was on was heading, but figured I would just get off when I saw something that looked interesting. About 15 minutes into the ride, the bus stopped alongside a recent vehicle accident. A public passenger bus similar to the one I was riding had flipped on its side. The shell of the bus was violently mangled, and the partially shattered windows contained highly visible patches of smeared blood. As I began to analyze the scene in more depth, I noticed that several of the people standing besides the bus were seriously bleeding and standing in 2-3ft wide puddles of vibrant colored blood. It was like a scene out of a movie, I don’t know that I have ever seen so much blood all in one place. After stopping at the accident for a couple minutes’, two men from the accident boarded the bus; one man in his late 60s had a deep laceration on his forehead and a broken nose, while another man in his early 30s had blood all over his shalwar, but no visible injuries.
I was incredibly exhausted, filthy, and sweating profusely as I exited the bus, but the fear and adrenaline provided me with enough juice to keep moving. I ended up at the Clifton Seaside……….a long stretch of seaside with an enormous park and a few luxury hotels.
While walking along the crowded sidewalks of the Clifton Seaside, I noticed how exceedingly different the atmosphere had become. There were palm readers and Sufis everywhere. Long haired Sufis sat in circles banging on large drums and smoking hash. Thousands of Pakistanis peacefully picnicked at a large, well maintained seaside park. All in all the area seamed relatively progressive and safe. I kinda expected people to be running through the streets with machine guns while hurling grenades at each other. It appears that I got lucky, and ended up in a calm perhaps even safe part of town.
It was now about 7:30pm and I was beginning to run out of daylight, I thought it would be prudent to lock down accommodation before things got too late. I ended up just walking around until I got lost and wound up in some sort of primitive bazaar area.
Narrow dirt roads, ground littered with animal bones and rotten vegetables, rotting piles of trash everywhere, pools of fresh animal blood, tailors, butchers, various vendors, and swarms of flies pretty much sums up the area. I have never in my life seen so many flies; shop keepers fanned flies away with square pieces of card board, but as soon as they stopped swinging the cardboard, the flies would cover every inch of the meat and fruit they were trying to protect. It was a bizarre and disgusting thing to witness.
The deeper I walked into the bazaar the more uneasy I began to feel. Darkness and cold stares began to penetrate and suffocate my strength. Instead of smiles and hot cups of tea, I was served frosty stares and unwelcoming smirks. This was definitely a neighborhood I should have avoided; I was clearly not welcome here. I began hearing bickering and whispers behind me, which invoked an uncontrollable sense of panic that sent a shockwave down my spine. Was I being followed? Had I got myself into a potentially fatal situation? What the hell was I thinking going into this neighborhood?...............I began to walk faster and faster as sweat poured heavily down my face. I had no Idea where I was and had no idea how to get out of this crazy maze of a neighborhood. The footsteps seamed to be getting closer and closer, even as my pace began to increase. Before I knew it I was at the edge of the neighborhood and near a main road; fortunately I was able to make my way out in one piece. With open air came pleasant relief and gradually subsiding paranoia. I was again in a relatively open area and began to feel a thin blanket of security upon my shoulders.
Darkness fell, and severe exhaustion and panic compelled me to immediately hop into a rickshaw and leave the area. I told the driver to take me to a hotel, and about 20 minutes later we had arrived in an area with no less than 15 hotels. We were actually back where I had started, near the train station. Finally my day was at an end! I could now find a hotel, take a shower and get some much needed rest. The last two days had been hell, and I was now more than ready to shut down my engine for a while.
Panic, exhaustion, frustration, and anger began to consume my body as each hotel I approached refused me occupancy. Over and over I was told that it was too high of a security risk for them to host me. After visiting no less than 20 hotels and miserably walking four miles through the loud, chaotic, and frightening streets of Karachi; I found a hotel that would take me. It was 11pm.
The hotel was incredible! After seeing the flashy new sign, and the four guards armed with AK47s out front; I new this place was a winner. The guy at the front desk spoke perfect English and told me he would allow me to stay at the hotel for $50; we settled on $20. I had enough danger, exhaustion, and excitement for one day. All I wanted to do was to get some food and go to sleep. I perhaps should add that the entire time I was on the train I had “stomach problems”…………..my stomach had been in shambles since arriving in Lahore. Since leaving Lahore the previous day, I had consumed only 4 juice boxes, 2 mangos, and 5 cups of tea. Thankfully now that I was at my final destination and in a safe secure hotel, my stomach was relaxed enough to welcome solid foods. For some reason, when I am severely stressed out and anxious, I tend to completely lose my appetite.
After checking into my room I ordered some fried chicken from the Pakistani style KFC across the street, but decided to play it safe and eat the meal in my pleasantly secure hotel room.
5-26-2008
I slept like a baby and woke up feeling great, the electricity stayed on the entire night, and the temperature remained cool and comfortable throughout the night. After eating a delicious continental breakfast; I took a taxi to the airport and by12:30pm was on a flight to Kathmandu, Nepal.
From the moment I left Lahore to the moment I left Karachi for Kathmandu;……….I felt severe discomfort and endured endless amounts of self inflicted pain. I really had no justifiable reason for this sort of traveling. It is not fun, enjoyable, enlightening etc……. It is simply a marathon of pain, fear, discomfort, agony, uncertainty, and stupidity. In hindsight everything about the last couple days falls into the reckless and foolish category. I can always say that I made it through Karachi in one piece, but at what cost? Was my less than 24hr experience in Karachi worth the potential dangers? I suppose nothing really went according to plan; I was told that the train ride would take 17hrs………..not 28.5hrs. This was a quite unpleasant surprise. If I had a bit more time in the city, perhaps I would not have jumped on the first bus I saw, or wandered through a poor unwelcoming neighborhood. I arrived in Karachi with less than 2 hours of daylight, exhausted, scared, and pumped full of adrenaline. I left Karachi rested but marginally exhausted with an overwhelming sense of foolishness.
{I made it out of Karachi alive but in hindsight, the decision to visit Karachi was quite reckless. Pakistan is now considered by many people to be the most dangerous country in the world. In the last year(2008): Newsweek, The Economist, and Time Magazine have published articles stating that Pakistan is the most dangerous country in the world. Karachi is said to have the highest street crime rate of any city in the world.
-Between January 1st, 2008 and August 31st 2008, there have been 149 kidnappings for ransom in Karachi. Over 1,000 murders take place each year in Karachi, and it has been said that 100 rapes occur each day in Karachi. So I guess…………Pakistan, and Karachi specifically was not the safest destination of my journey.}
-So this is pretty much the end of the road for a while. My trip concluded with Nepal, India, Thailand, Cambodia, and South Korea…….but I am not sure I will write about those experiences……..I really appreciate any writing feedback………so if you have anything to say good or bad……..please leave a comment or send me an email. I am planning on rewriting a lot of my stuff, and perhaps will turn it into a book. Thanks for reading………knowing that people read this nonsense gives me inspiration to write.
Trevor Lake
laketrev@hotmail.comHere are a few pics-
Sufi shrine in Lahore:
Border ceremony:
Mohammed and his family:
